


let me come home (home is wherever i'm with you)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Phil Coulson, Car Sex, Drabble Collection, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4946239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of smut Daisy/Coulson drabbles for the Skoulson Smutathon on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lola

“Is it because I was driving?” she asks him, twisting her mouth mocking his sudden desire, when his mouth drops below her neck, clever fingers undoing the buttons of her shirt all non-chalant and like they’re not on SHIELD premises.

“You know how much I like it when you drive,” he teases her without looking up at her.

For the record, _for the record_ , she doesn’t really like car sex. She absolutely does not like car sex. She lived in a van for two years, of course she doesn’t like car sex, she likes nice big beds and pillows and she likes the smell of Coulson’s room and the smell of Coulson’s bed and she likes being able to spread her legs on it not just metaphorically but literally. Plus a part of her thinks she’s being disrespectful to Lola – or worse, to Phil’s _dad_.

“Coulson – our room is really close,” she reminds him.

Nice, big-ish room with a bed.

“Yeah, it is,” he says and she can’t see him –he’s still dropping kisses above her collarbone, moving his body between Lola’s seats so he can get closer to her– but she hears his voice full of humor. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, a cocky tone because he already knows she doesn’t.

She shakes her head, brushing her dry mouth against his temple. He stops a moment what he’s doing and she can tell, she can 100% for sure tell he’s smirking at her now.

So she doesn’t like car sex, but she likes _this_ , she likes Coulson’s mouth sucking on top of her shoulder, biting lightly, while he sneaks his hand under her clothes, fingers caressing between the grooves of her ribcage and her whole body goes stiff with more than the hours on the road, sitting here. He doesn’t take his pants off, just unbuttons her and works his hand under her clothes like they are some kind of sex-crazed teenagers; except she wishes she could have had someone like Coulson in her teenage years, she wishes she could have felt this fucking safe, and cherised, and unashamed, back then, and she digs her fingernails into his shoulder as a gesture of strange, almost-painful (oh but she knows that low-pitched whimper, he not _protesting_ ), gratitude, because it’s silly moments like this, fooling around in Lola in the garage not because they were about to die and wow-I-almost-lost-you but because they just feel like it, because they can never get enough of this even when it’s quiet, it’s moments like this which make the crap of her past feel okay, when she thinks about it.

And she likes it all but specially she likes the way Coulson unzips his jeans and starts taking care of himself with his left hand without a missing a beat, stroking his cock slowly, gloved hand, while still focused on her, and something about it makes Daisy terribly wet for him. He sucks a long kiss under her ear as he pushes a second finger and she sighs, feeling that moment where everything clicks and the natural disaster inside her body and under her skin stops roaring and starts to sing because it knows Coulson is here, with her, with them, it’s okay.

She wraps her fingers around Lola’s wheel as Coulson twists his inside her, the wonderful friction between his hand and her clothes and the lack of mobility, the roughness of him, how he struggles –his labored breathing against her neck again– get her there embarrassingly quick.

Car sex is great. Who the hell said she didn’t like it?


	2. against a wall

They’ve only barely made it into the room they are using for surveillance when Daisy pushes him against the wall, smashing their mouths together when she senses Coulson is about to say something.

The back of his head bumps against it too, the wall, it sounds painful, but she doesn’t let him go just yet. Not until she can taste fear in him, the fear he’s been very much trying to push down and put somewhere safer and Daisy knows better than anyone that it doesn’t work like that. It’ll get you broken bones, she thinks, a horrible image that makes her stomach turn, so she bites his bottom lip and pulls back for a moment.

“Shut up,” she warns him, sliding her mouth against his again.

He doesn’t move, he lets Daisy grab his arms and immobilize him. Her chest against his until he holds his breath.

“ _Agent_ Johnson,” he warns her.

He sounds so very Directorial for some crappy agent who almost got his skull cracked open. Has he seen himself in a mirror? Because the purple-ish spot under his hairline is _all_ Daisy can see right now when she looks at him. So she closes her eyes and kisses him again.

Coulson squirms like he would love to stop her except he really wouldn’t, because she knows him, he needs to stop being so stubborn and just start feeling the same thing she’s feeling right now and god he _needs_ her to do the work for him this time.

Then he is actually able to stop her and pulls her away from him, grabbing her head.

“You don’t break protocol like that,” he says, his hand twisted in her hair, not pulling, not rough, but like he needs to keep her in place or he fears she will walk away.

“For you?” she snaps back. “I will, I freaking will.”

And he should be thanking her, anyway. If it weren’t for her and this unforgivable protocol breakage or whatever he’s whining about now he’d be dead –

\- _he’d be dead_.

She pushes him against the wall. Harder, this time.

She kisses him.

Harder, too.

He wants to say her name around her tongue but she doesn’t let him.

She only stops when she has to break the kiss to see what she is doing, unbuckling his belt with adrenaline-numbed fingers and trying to work the damn buttons open. Coulson tries to grab her arms.

“Daisy,” he calls, trying to get her to stop even though she’s slipping from his grip. “ _Skye_ ,” like a secret code between them.

She looks up from what she’s doing, hand heavy on his hip.

“Shut up, Coulson, just – let me, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, softer now, stroking her hair, understanding.

She drops to her knees with an audible thud against the floor, like struck dumb by some religious vision (she remembers, and she’s pretty sure the nuns _would love_ to know she’s thinking about their forced catechisms right before sucking her boyfriend off). Coulson is still caressing the top of her head as she finishes freeing him.

His cock throbbing in her hand is a good reminder that he is, after all, alive.

But she still needs more.

When she brings her lips to him Coulson falls back against the wall, almost buckling, the usual obscenities slipping from his mouth (and _that one_ is for the nuns, too). She wraps her mouth around him slowly, wondering that he is not hard yet (then remembers adrenaline does not work on him that same way it does on her).

And suddenly the need becomes quieter – but not softer – and she stops, wanting to see his face, his eyes, his bruised stupid face.

He opens his eyes when she tears her mouth away.

They look at each other.

“Are you _all right_?” she asks.

He rubs the bruise on his temple. She can finally see it in his eyes, the fear he has been needing. He nods. “I’m okay.”

Daisy reaches up, wrapping her hands around his waist.

“Coulson, _please_.”

And she would beg, which is not how it normally goes between them, but she doesn’t need to because Coulson understands immediately.

He helps her up, grabbing her by the elbow.

They nod at each and Coulson curls his fingers around her shoulder and pushes her to turn around, facing the wall.

Her hands are still numb but she manages to unzip her own clothes out of habit, pulling her pants and underwear down her hips. Coulson works himself hard before he plants one hand on her waist and draws her body back. Daisy presses her forearms against the wall, getting into position.

He squeezes her arm a couple of times. Daisy throws him a glance over her shoulders.

“Skye?” he calls again.

“Yeah,” she reassures him and his cool and collected act cracks a little when he doesn’t wait for more encouragement, burying himself in her with urgency.

Only when he is inside her she can breathe a little easier. But only a little. It’s not like the ache in her chest at the idea of losing him is going to get silenced soon, they’ll probably have to work on it the whole night, through moments quieter than this – she needs to see him naked, she needs to touch his scar, she needs to hear his beating heart for hours before she can convince herself – but she needs this moment first. And judging by the way he is whispering her name, all of them, against her shoulder right now, undone by that first moment of contact as well, Coulson needs this first too.

He moves into her slowly, fucks her slow and hard against the wall and just as she wanted him to – his left hand tightly wrapped around her hip, keeping her still as he thrusts into her, his right hand soft and tender along her spine and the back of her neck.

“Thank you,” he says.

“What for?” she asks, eyes closed, forehead pressed against the wall.

“If it wasn’t for you I’d be dead,” he tells her.

She whimpers loudly and she hopes Coulson thinks it’s just because he’s pushed into her in the right way – but he probably knows better.


	3. gloves

She’s naked, except for the glove she’s slipping, going maddeningly slow, down her fingers.

“You know, when you had to start wearing gloves, that’s when this started,” she says.

Coulson tries to move from under her but she has him straddled between her legs and her weight is surprisingly solid.

“Really?” he asks, wondering.

She actually does the thing where she finishes putting on the glove by catching the leather between her teeth and pulling and _fuck_ his whole body aches. He has been here enough times –here in her bed, in this position under her, coming to her with this purpose– a few actually, though he’s not keeping score, he could never, and it’s never any less… what’s the word? Miraculous? It sounds sappy but at his age and with the life he’s led. It sounds accurate because of who she is.

“Really,” Daisy is saying. “I thought you looked mysterious, sexy, with them.”

He wants to laugh, but it’s more complicated than that. A wonderful young woman is sitting naked on top of him telling him she thinks he’s sexy and it’s never a question of insecurity or not believing her, but it's–

“I thought the gloves might be a reminder,” he says.

“I don’t care about that,” she says, almost curt, and she drops her hand, her index brushing across his belly. The feeling is disconcerting – it’s just the leather so he can’t really feel them but they are Daisy’s fingers, her gestures. “I think I was able to convince you of that already.”

Coulson gives her a grateful smile. Missing a limb is not the greatest reason he could think of for why Daisy wouldn’t want to be with him, but still.

She’s very carefully drawing lazy circles on his stomach, moving up to his chest, closing her fingers over the line of his scar. His mouth goes dry.

“Tell me how it feels,” she says gently, catching his expression.

“It doesn’t feel – it doesn’t feel like much,” he says. Leather on scarred skin. Only the bits around the actual wound are sensitive enough. It feels like something is still missing, like something is still wrong with him.

She pulls back, a softness around her eyes telling him she’s very purposedly not pushing him on the issue. If someone understands it’s her – he’s not comparing their situations, of course, but he hasn’t been able to feel like his body is really his for two years. It gets better, _this_ helps; this having someone else touch him like it’s solid and his, having someone make love to this body he’s grown to distrust, it helps, he’s getting there, he wants to get there with Skye. Daisy.

“I think I need the other one,” she says, turning where she sits and reaching back for the other glove.

The right hand one.

The one he doesn’t really need – the one for protection, for disguise.

Right now he is completely naked, of course. Daisy has the gloves. He doesn’t even have his prothetic attached – he’d felt very strongly about keeping it on, most of the times they’ve been to bed together. And now she’s wearing his gloves and he feels like someone has put a mirror in front of him. Except she’s beautiful and whole and he’s -

She is running her hands up his sides now, sliding the leather over Coulson’s ribcage, leaning forward but careful enough that the rest of her body is not touching him at all (except for the vicious grip of her thighs around his hips, her warm wet arousal against the top of his legs, the feeling of which makes every other worry fade away), only the gloves. She touches him in a very deliberate way – unlike all the other times they’ve been together. Daisy is a force of nature (pun intended), she’s a lot more passionate than she lets on, she jumps in heart first and their times together have normally been a warm mess of urgency and relief. Not this calculated arousal, this slow teasing. And it’s actually what excites him right now, more than the touch of her hand, knowing there are things to discover about her.

Daisy makes a pleased muffled sound when it shows, his curiosity. She drops her hands to his hips again, where the artificial feel of the leather seems even rougher over the tender skin of his groin. She wraps her left hand (the glove he needs) around his cock.

The feeling is so foreign, harsh. It surprises him.

“What, you’ve never tried it yourself?” Daisy asks. Except there’s a bit of Skye in the way she tilts her head when she teases him.

He shakes his head.

She arches an eyebrow. “I’m disappointed, I thought you were a curious man, Phil.”

He groans in protest but that’s when she starts stroking him and all noises go out off him like someone pressed the mute button on the remote. And he is curious, he looks at it, Daisy’s gloved hand (his glove) jerking him off, he can’t stop staring.

“Hey. Look at me,” she says.

They’ve done this enough times that she has caught up, and fast, to the fact that he likes it when she orders him around.

She twists her hand. The movements are less precise because of the glove. It doesn’t feel like the first time she touched him, weeks ago, and the sensation was so blindingly new he almost fucking came from that like a fool. Now he arches up, lifting his hips, trying to keep perfectly still otherwise. He’s not normally this passive but something about Daisy’s stance here, her hard glance, something that makes him think about the phrase “being at her mercy”. He’s not normally this passive and Daisy is not normally this patient and there are so many things they still have to discover about each other.

“It looks like you’re going to have to buy new gloves,” she comments.


	4. sex with clothes on

He had only meant to kiss her for a bit, he _swears_.

When Daisy pushes him against the mattress he realizes how much bigger these bunks are, compared to the ones in the old Bus. He had only meant to press her against the wall and kiss her for a second, maybe two, coming down from the rush of the mission, being a bit indiscreet at that, smashing his mouth against hers before they had closed the door.

Daisy climbs on top of him quickly, easily, finding his mouth again. He holds her hip with his left hand and uses the right to draw the line of her spine through the fabric of her field suit. Even kevlar and layers of composite material cannot hide her warmth.

“I’ve missed your suits,” she says, pulling back as she straddles him.

Coulson gives her a skeptical look. “Really?”

She hooks her index on the knot of his tie, loosening it just a bit. “Not for a while,” she tells him. “But sometimes – I mean, they’re nice suits.”

He’s only wearing it now because they had a reunion with the Army on the way back. He’s more comfortable out of them these days. But Daisy is running her hands appreciatively along the front of his shirt so he doesn’t protest. Maybe he wishes he was wearing jeans instead, because the fabric of his pants can’t hide how he’s already hard for her, how he had meant to wait, he promises, but he can’t, and she seems to be having the same problem, twisting her fingers into his collar and pulling him down to her mouth like she’s angry there’s no way she can hold him even closer than this. He touches her cheek, her hair, as he kisses her, sliding his lips down her jaw, Daisy grabbing at his hair hard enough that he understands she’s at the end of her wits as well. He smirks, secretly, against her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her and it’s such a lie. “I wanted to wait.”

That part is not a lie and he sighs a bit, because he had it all planned, the way this should go, he had it planned for her, because he wanted it for her, to feel cared for and cherished. He thinks she deserves more than a hurried moment in a bunk in the plane. But he also thinks she deserves whatever the hell she wants and she wants him now and maybe he’s being selfish because he wants this too and maybe he can never refuse her anything.

Daisy pulls him to one side so they change position, her legs curled around his waist, Coulson’s weight on her.

He can see her dark eyes better like this, closer than he’s ever been to her, he can feel her racing heartbeat under him. He rolls his hips against her and she arches her body into the movement. Coulson has meant to wait. This is too new and they have been stuck in this plane for weeks, it had all happened in mid-air and he had silently promised that he was going to wait until they were back in the Playground to do something like this. But the kissing in dark spots in every nook of the plane, and the touching in the common area when everyone else is sleeping in their bunks – he’s frustrated, Daisy is frustrated, it’s getting harder to tear themselves apart each time, and he’s not really surprised (or ashamed) that they have ended up basically dry-humping like fifteen-year-olds on her bunk.

He runs his thumb along the inside of her arm, up until he finds the only bits of skin exposed, her fingertips. Post-mission, she is still wearing her gauntlets and Coulson feels his cock ache at the notion. He kisses her harder to cover up his desperation, grabbing her wrist and holding her hand above her on the pillow. He kisses her harder and he grinds down harder between her legs.

Daisy makes a strange noise at the back of her throat and he’s barely even touched her.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

She nods.

“Yeah, it’s just – the vibrations you are giving off, they’re amazing. I can feel it all and it’s,” she stops herself, flushed with something else other than arousal. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been this close to another person after I transformed, I didn’t know how it would be and it… it feels incredible.”

And he wants that, to make her feel incredible.

He looks into her eyes, thrusting her hips forward slowly, like he was inside her and making love to her patiently (it’s still too early and he can’t imagine ever being able to make love to Daisy Johnson _patiently_ ), forgetting about his own painful hard-on pressed against the inside of her thigh, focusing on getting some friction for her. Of course it’s not like Coulson can really understand how she feels the world move around her, with her gift, she’s not like anyone he has ever been with – but then again he always knew that, even before she got earthquake powers, way before they started this.

He tries again, pressing his body against hers, matching his movements to her increasingly fast breathing.

She shuts her eyes closed, tightly, and she bites her bottom lip and okay, Coulson might have been out of the game for a long time – a really long time, he reminds himself, hopelessly – but he can recognize what he is seeing on her face.

“Did you just…?” he asks, astonished.

She takes a moment to reply, her chest heaving under him. Coulson wants to take a picture right now, feels a pang of regret it’s come and gone so quickly, the moment, the very first time he’s made Daisy come.

“This is embarrassing,” she says, talking without opening her eyes. She groans.

Coulson chuckles. The noise sounds loud enough here inside the bunk that he worries about being discovered – but there’s no one in this part of the plane right now and well, it wouldn’t be such a catastrophe anyway. He draws his hand accross her neck and pushes her hair back, the beads of sweat beginning to pool under the collar of her suit.

“Now you have to,” Daisy tells him.

“What?”

She moves her hand between their bodies, palming his erection gently through his clothes, almost too gently, like she’s not sure she has permission to touch him like this just yet.

“Come on, Coulson,” she says, her head to one side. “I’m not going to be the only idiot who comes in her pants today.”

“Sounds like a threat,” he teases her, dropping one kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Oh it very much is a threat, Phil,” she teases him back, her hand dropping so that she is caressing his thigh.

“I have a little more self-control than you,” he tells her. “You might have to work for it.”

“That’s okay,” she replies. “I’m _younger_. I have more energy than you.”

He laughs and this time he thinks it’s loud enough for the whole plane to have heard it. He can’t bring himself to care at all.


	5. kink negotiation

**one**

"Maybe you can do it to me afterwards?" he offers and she can see the tension on his face, that this is a concession he is making and she doesn't want that.

"This shouldn't be a quid pro quo," Daisy tells him. "If you don't feel comfortable."

She sits back on the bed, her legs across Coulson's lap. It's been an unusually quiet day and they were able to retire to their quarters earlier than accustomed. She's been tiptoeing around the issue for a while, and she thinks that with time to spare and after one of those exceptional non-shitty days, this could be the moment.

"The whole thing is that – I know you would never do that," she tells him. "That's why it's a fantasy."

"Mmm."

"Come on. Would you ever abuse your position of power with me like that? Answer honestly, you think there's a chance –"

"No," Coulson replies, shapr. "I've been unfair with you sometimes, yes. Stubborn. But I wouldn't..."

"And _I_ know that. That's the only reason the idea turns me on," she explains. "If there was any doubt in my mind I would never want you to play this game."

Coulson nods like the explanation makes sense to him but he's still hesitant to do it. He probably doesn't understand why trust is such a thing with her. Or he does understand but he can't really feel how she feels. Why she could never do this with anyone else. Any of this – not just the sex, the whole being with him thing.

"I have actually talked to Andrew about this," she tells him. Coulson narrows his eyes at her. "Yes, I talk about sex stuff with my therapist. Grow up, Phil."

"Okay," he says, doing that thing he does where he touches her knee in a conciliatory way and it makes her so wet, he has no idea. It's probably a good thing that he has no idea. "What did Andrew tell you?"

"That it's a good idea to be able to revist bad stuff without experiencing the actual hurt, but only if _I_ think it's a good idea," she replies, biting the inside of her cheek.

"I want to help," he says and it's genuine but she can hear the same hesitation in his voice. She has to smile because god, this is so like him.

She knows how the world works. She knows that so many years in such a big organization as SHIELD, Coulson must have seen a lot of stuff. And she loves him because he cares, because he can't stop caring. And they've talked about this, and he's seen her file, and he's the best profiler she knows, he knows where this is coming from. But she could never work out her issues at his expense.

Daisy leans forward and runs her fingers through his hair.

"Pin on it?" she suggests.

He looks relieved but also hiding it well.

She wraps her arms around his neck. "In that case you'll have to be _extra nice_ to me tonight. Okay?"

And just talking about it, yeah, okay, Walking Natural Disaster, Actual Superhero Daisy Johnson, she's feeling a bit vulnerable right now, a bit exposed.

"Whatever you want," he says, and it would seem like irony but it's not. Because _whatever you want_ is always conditional between, and Daisy is so grateful for that, because it means like every moment between them is a choice, it means Coulson doesn't just love her, he chooses her.

 

**two**

"I don't want to talk about it," he says, picking up the pace.

"Okay, I don't want to push," she replies and Coulson gives her _a look_ because when has she ever not pushed. "Just letting you know I noticed. And I'm game if you are."

"There's nothing to notice," he insists, turning a corner and speed like he wants to leave her behind.

"Come on, Coulson," she presses, catching up. "I saw your face. I know that face. It's usually the face you make before you remove your clothes at a speed I truly believed impossible until I met you."

He looks at her and his frustrated expression softens. "You said you _didn't_ want to push."

Daisy drops her gaze a moment. "Sorry." But she doesn't actually drop it. "You know there's nothing wrong with it."

"No, I know," he tells her. "I'm the Director of SHIELD. I shouldn't need the reassurance."

"I don't think you do," she argues. It's not about need. "And you were under my orders in this. It's okay to be happy your superior thinks you did a good job."

"My _superior_ , uh?"

His voice changes, it becomes – well, bedroom-ish even though they are in the middle of the hallway, with agents passing them by every few seconds. Good thing that people around the base mostly ignore their behavior.

"And as you superior I could prepare a meeting to tell you – uh – what a _good_ job you've done of following my orders today," Daisy tells him.

She watches Coulson swallow. _Oh boy_.

"That would be... acceptable," he struggles. "Any agent would want to know when he's done a good job." He looks around a moment, touching the palm of his hand to the small of her back, discreetly. "Think you could do that?" he asks. "Tell me I'm a _good agent_?"

Daisy smirks.

 

**three**

"Okay. But only if I get to choose the lipstick color."

Daisy laughs against his naked chest, laughs at the seriousness of his tone. "Of course. I _wouldn't dream_ of taking that choice away from you, Phil."

 

**four**

"You have a problem with it, that's why you want to do it?" she asks. She thinks she understands the idea, but she wants to be sure. 

"I used to like this," he says, twisting the scarf between his fingers somehow distractedly. Daisy is not going to lie, she finds even the gesture sexy. She would like to have him under her and blindfolded, it's not like this is the first time she has considered it, but something, some hunch, had stopped her from asking so far. "I don't like the idea of being deprived of my senses like that, not since–"

"Since you died? Since you remembered the operations they performed on you? Since the _memory machine_?" He looks surprised for a moment, like he wasn't expecting the insight. "Yeah, it makes sense."

He nods and looks between them, touching his fingers to the upside of Daisy's hand over the covers.

"I'm afraid of it," he tells her. "Being unable to see, against my will."

He takes her hand and slowly opens her fingers with her palm turned upwards. He pushes the soft scart into her hand.

"Coulson..."

"I think if it's with you it would be okay," he tells her. "If I can hear _your voice_. Because it brought me back before, so I would know I was safe."

Daisy nods at him and closes her fingers over the fabric of the scarf.

 

**five**

"We'd probably need lube for that," he says, looking around as if a tube of it is suddenly going to materialize just because he wants it to.

Daisy smiles. He's pretty chill, the chill-est lover she's ever had (not that she had that many, or that great, it was only Miles that ever made her feel good, and she would have never shared this with him) and if she's honest it's arousing just to talk stuff over with him, almost as much as actually doing the stuff. This one has a bit to do with her powers, and she hasn't told him that, about being able to feel him, be inside him like that. That last bit she's told him. It's a bit weird to tell a guy that you want to be inside him, but she knows Coulson, she knows his history, she knows something like that it's not going to scare him off. 

She is lying across their bed, head resting over the top of his bare thighs, stroking her cheek against the soft layer of hair.

"I guess," she says, considering the technical obstacle. "Or maybe..."

She drops her head and presses her mouth against the inside of his knee, licking the spot.

Coulson doesn't miss a beat, catches her meaning on the spot. "Show me your tongue. _How long_ is it?" he asks.

She does, sticking out her tongue as much as she can, trying not to laugh.

Coulson looks _impressed_.

"I like Option B," he tells her.

 

**six**

"And that's your kink?" she asks, hoping it doesn't sound too discouraging. She would never want to do that to him.

He comes from behind, kissing her neck as she takes out the coffee mugs. They have a thin film on dust on them, like everything on the safehouse does.

"So what? Do you want me to play a housewife?" she asks.

"Of course not," Coulson tells her, squeezing her shoulder shyly. "You'd be coming from work too. And we'd eat some takeout and just relax –"

"In front of the fire?" she says. "Not very suburban."

"It's _a fantasy_." He gives the cabin a look. "We'll work with what we have."

A domestic fantasy, she wants to point out. She likes that he has no hang ups about asking her to pretend they are married – they did that for a mission once, it didn't go well – and he doesn't worry that it might push the question into their actual dynamic. And she has thought about it, even though she never thought she'd think about it (a mouthful but that's her life). It's strange to be considering marriage when she always believed it was something outside her reach. She'd marry Coulson in a heartbeat, but she'd rather wait until the world quietens down on the chaos and the wanting to kill her whole kind.

"So you'd have a normal job?" she says, turning around and resting her hands on his belt. 

"Teacher."

"Let me guess? History?"

He shakes his head slightly and she feels she's said the wrong thing – this is supposed to be a sexy fantasy, it shouldn't remind him of bad stuff – but then he kisses her. "Spanish," he says.

"Spanish, _nice_. Can I choose my job, too?"

"You own a used car dealership," he jokes.

Daisy grimaces. "Ugh, no. I am a food photographer."

" _Food photographer_?"

"Yes. Did you know they don't use actual ice cream when they take pictures of ice cream for ads and magazines?" Coulson shakes his head, looking fascinated at the information. "It would melt. They use mashed potato and dye."

He pushes his fingers into her hair, stroking the side of her hair gently.

"I don't want a normal life," he tells her suddenly, sounding almost scared, frightened that she might think... "I don't want any other kind of life, just _this_."

She nods. "I know."

"I used to think I wanted that," he goes on. "I used to feel I had been robbed of that. A conventional life, like the one my parents had. But I wasn't robbed. It's just that – I didn't know better. Because I didn't know you yet."

He kisses her hard, pressing her back against the kitchen counter. 

"I know," Daisy tells him when he pulls back. "That's why it's a fantasy."

He smiles.

"Just to be clear, though," she says. "We're going to have sex, right? This is not a fantasy about a suburban _sexless_ marriage?"

Coulson chuckles, wrapping his arm around her waist. "No. We're definitely going to have sex."


	6. risk of being caught

**1.**

He digs his thumb deep but gently into the base of her skull.

"Thank you," she says.

"You should still get a check up," he tells her.

"In the morning," Daisy replies.

"You know it's okay to wake our doctors up if you get hurt, right?"

She throws him a look over the shoulder.

"It's for my convenience, not theirs," she tells Coulson, because she knows he knows her. "I'm tired, I don't want to see anyone." He makes a tiny noise. She's seeing him now, isn't she. "And I didn't break anything, I swear. I'm just... super sore."

"Okay," he agrees, pressing two fingers between her shoulder-blades.

She skirms. That felt good.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, no," she replies, happy he can't see her face right now. "I mean – yeah, it hurts, but you're helping."

He resumes the – well, she wouldn't call it massage, he's just making sure everything is in the right place, and he's trying to relieve pressure on the sorest spots. She took quite a beating tonight, but you should see the other guy. And that's how they ended up like this, at two in the morning, with Daisy sitting on the edge of the couch, Coulson sitting behind (yeah, she's sort of sitting between his legs but only just) and running his right hand over every hurting place in her body. He's focusing on the small of her back now, rolling up her tank top and using the heel of his hand on it.

That's probably the worst, most bruised part but when he touches her Daisy feel threads of pain ebb away in a moment, and she didn't realize how tense her whole body was until he starts to untie all her knots. She can feel a not-completely-human moan of relief torn away from her throat as she chases the feeling, arching her back against Coulson's touch.

Coulson chuckles.

"If anyone were to come in here they'd get the wrong impression, judging by the sounds you're making."

It's a joke but it's a bit tense, like halfway he realizes maybe he shouldn't be making it but it's too late for that.

"Uh," she wonders.

"What? That was – a joke."

"No, I know."

Something about the idea intrigues her. What would people think if they were to come into the room right now? Daisy almost wishes that would happen, to see the scene through someone else's eyes. It would be interesting. The Director with his hand under her top and Daisy making pleased noises. Would people think it's weird? Daisy wants to know because it doesn't feel weird to her.

"Would they really be getting the _wrong_ impression?" she asks Coulson.

His hand stops. "What do you mean?"

His joke made something click in her head. She shifts on the couch, pulling back from the edge and leaning back against Coulson's body. He takes the hand away before it gets trapped between their bodies and while she can feel it against her, his surprise, his clumsiness, he doesn't make any attempt to move away from the couch. Now _this_ would be a sight, if someone were to enter the room right now, Daisy basically with her ass between the Director's legs, and lying her body on his chest.

"This is nice," she says, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. He is so close and even when tense – and he is, _tense_ – Coulson's vibrations are the nicest she's ever felt. Quiet and non-threatening, this gentle rhythm Daisy can sense even if the room is full of people, louder people – everyone else's vibrations are always loud than his.

He wraps his fingers around her right arm, still looking to make her feel better, while his other hand rests, purposedly light, a bit awkward, over her thigh.

"We're close, aren't we," she asks, her eyes still closed.

"We've always been close," he deflects.

"I mean – this is different."

"Sk– Daisy..." He squeezes his arm. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he tells her.

Daisy moves her head from his collarbone to his arm, opening her eyes and glancing up at him. "Do I look like I'm _uncomfortable_?"

He gives her a nervous smile.

"No, I guess not."

She nods and settles back against him, finding the best spot right over his heart.

 

**2.**

"For a guy who had such trouble getting my name right not so long ago you're pretty good at screaming it," she says.

She has her hand over Coulson's mouth. He is trying to get his breath back, eyelids heavy and barely aware that he is being stared at so Daisy can pay attention and commit the way his looks now to memory, specially the pink flush on his cheeks – she saves it for a rainy day because she knows this honeymoon-like phase won't last, except the weird thing about Coulson is that a lot of things that weren't supposed to last with him did last, so who knows. There's no harm in watching him as he comes down, kissing the palm of Daisy's hand like some sort of sexy fish. Yeah she just had that thought. A sexy fish. _Damnit, Phil._

"I'm sorry," he says, pulling her arm away and hugging her, panting against the skin of her collarbone. 

They are both naked, Daisy's favorite blanket wrapped around their waists, Coulson croslegged on the bed, with her sitting on his lap. His skin feels incredibly hot under her.

"You think someone heard?" she asks.

"Mmm," he looks doubtful. About whether someone heard or about whether it matters, Daisy is not sure.

He's still inside her, she can feel his whole body like a lifeline. Under the blanket he's grabbing her back, running his fingers over it like he needs just an extra bit of connection.

Daisy smiles. "I think they're all asleep."

The bunks in the new plane are different, Coulson doesn't have the luxury of a bed in his office – she has been meaning to ask about that, about why he designed it like this.

"I think so," he agrees, like he's unsure what _she_ wants him to say about it, moving his hands to her hips, getting ready to pulls her off him, but hesitating, like he doesn't want to let go just yet. Daisy enjoys the contrast between right hand and left hand, the feeling that she couldn't be with anyone else but Coulson right now, if she closes her eyes, because he's different to anyone else.

She draws his lips with her index, almost wanting to hear that scream again, but not sure she's ready for the other to know just yet.

 

**3.**

She kisses him while Bobbi and Mack are getting the beers out of the fridge. If they were to turn around now they would catch Daisy pressing her mouth against the Director's.

He mouths _What the hell?_ when she's already positioned on the other side of the couch, at a safe distance. Daisy smirks at him.

Bobbi came to give them a break from an endless session of potential team evaluations and now she and Mack are in the kitchen, only barely out of sight. Barely out of sight so they don't see Daisy risking a further attack, swaying where she sits to give Coulson a risky sweet kiss on the cheek. Coulson is caught between widening his eyes at her and keeping an eye on the kitchen.

Daisy tries really hard not to burst out laughing at his expression. It's very juvenile, she knows, what she's doing, but Coulson looks like he could use some juvenile from time to time. By the time Bobbi and Mack come back to join them on the couches with some refreshments Coulson's face shows no sign of how flustered he looked a moment ago. That's what you get after a lifetime as a spy, she guesses.

She crosses her legs on the couch, leaning to one side as if to listening to the explanation Coulson is giving Bobbi – Bobbi seems the only person on the rooster _genuinely_ interested in Phil's culinary anecdotes. Well, Daisy is interested, but that doesn't count. She exchanges an eyeroll with Mack at some point, then she shifts on her sit, discreetly pressing her knee againts Coulson's leg. He doesn't seem to even notice but Daisy smiles because she can tell by his vibrations he has been startled by her move and he's trying very hard not to acknowledge, trying very hard to avoid Bobbi and Mack noticing the intimate gesture and draw their own conclusions. Maybe she has a future as human lie detector, or maybe she is beginning to know his vibrations a little too well.

She keeps doing it the whole time Mack and Bobbi are with them, even after the break is over and they go back to proper work; little touches that might seem like nothing to a third party, a boss and his subordinate who have always been unusually close. Daisy brushing her arm against him while she is explaining something enthusiastically. The way she leans over Coulson to show Bobbi something on her tablet, pressing her breasts against his shoulder. That sort of thing goes on for a while, and Coulson remains stoic.

"Are you sure you don't want us to stay?" Mack asks when she notices his weariness and sends him to his quarters, promising she'll be able to finish the reports on her own.

She nods, taking pity on the guy. "The Director here can keep me company," she tells him, elbowing Coulson in a friendly, not-too-telling, way. Mack and Bobbi don't even exchange a curious look and Daisy is a bit disappointed. No one really suspects a thing, do they. Scratch disappointed, she's almost offended. Everybody should at least have some suspicious that she's having super hot sex with the Director behind everybody's rights. 

"Have you lost your mind?" Coulson asks when they are gone, but his voice is full of smile.

"It was just a little game."

"They could have seen us."

She shrugs. "Would it have been so bad?" 

"I don't understand," he says, finally. "Daisy, you were the one who wanted –"

"To keep it a secret, I know," she sighs. It's probably an unexpected turn of events, the fact that it's her the one wanting to keep their relationship from the team. "It's just that, I'm putting everything I have into building my own team. I don't have the energy to deal with–"

"No one is going to care," Coulson says.

She raises an eyebrow, the eternal optimist. She is not expecting anyone to be _against_ it. But even the possibility makes her tense, makes her feel unbelievably exhausted. Everything about being with Coulson has been, surprisingly and so far, easy and good and she's afraid of doing something that will make it not be like that anymore.. 

Coulson grabs her gently by the arms.

"Sometimes I think you just like it," he tells her. "The risk of getting caught, keeping it under the radar."

Daisy blushes a bit. "Yeah, well, I like it _a bit_. It's exciting. Don't you like it?"

He lets go of her arms, sitting back, but keeping his hand over hers.

"It's a bit more complicated for me," he admits. "I'm the Director and keeping this a secret... at times it makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong."

She feels like she's been punched in the soul. Thank you, Phil, thank you very much. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean–"

He moves his hand to her hair, stroking it, a gesture to stop her.

"No," he says. "It's okay. That's my problem, not yours." He looks around. "All this you're building. You don't need the extra worry right now. And _I know_ I'm not doing anything wrong, with you."

She moves to kiss him and they're both acutely aware anyone can come in at any moment, Mack could have forgotten something, the techs in the lab might come in to get something from the kitchen, anything. But she wants him to know it's more than that. She pulls away and holds his chin between her fingers for a moment.

"I've never have something mine, anything that I could keep a secret," she tells Coulson, whose sheepish grin upon the word _mine_ is worth the whole discussion. "So yeah, it's a bit exciting for me."

"So I'm your dirty little secret?" he jokes.

Daisy makes a protesting noise at the back of her throat. Coulson kisses her silent again.

"Hey, see, it's fine," he says. "You look out for yourself in whatever way you think it's necessary. I don't mind being your dirty little secret for now."

"Stop saying that," she laughs.

"Why? You like it," he replies, full-on flirty tone.

"I do like it," she confesses, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving the door a sideways glance. At least with her powers the chances of getting caught like this are pretty thin, she can feel someone walking in this direction a mile away (okay, not a whole mile, it's just a expression). Unless she gets... mmm, _distracted_. "It's just that I'm not going to be free for _hours_ yet."

He gets up from the couch, patting his clothes into something more presentable.

"It's okay," Coulson says, bending and kissing the top of her head. "Your dirty little secret will be waiting for you in his quaters when you finish."

Daisy wraps her fingers around his wrist. 

"Really?"

"Really. I don't want to distract you anymore," he teases her. She narrows her eyes at him. "Just wake me up."

She grabs his shirt before he can escape. "You are. Very distracting."

He wiggles his eyebrows.

" _I know._ "

 

**4.**

The sound of the zipper in her suit being pulled down like this, deliberately, slowly enough to make her lose her mind, is so loud between the walls of his office it almost frightens her for a moment.

She lifts one hand in protest. "You know, we still have the mission debrief– _oh_." Coulson smirks against her neck as he slips one hand inside the suit. "What I mean is – anyone can come in. They probably _are_ going to come in."

"Then we'll send them away, tell them to leave us alone," he says calmly, grabbing her hip with his super-strength hand and propping her until she's sitting on top of his desk. "Nobody cares," he reminds her. "They all know and no one cares, Agent Johnson."

She smiles in agreement, finally, parting her knees to let him press his body against her, to let him find her under layers of clothes.


End file.
